Secret Sisters (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“I've been doing a survey for the past fifteen minutes and I can now inform you with ninety-seven percent certainty that there are two distinct breeds of dog here in La Jolla.” Abe spoke around a mouthful of fish taco. “You've got your basic Rescue Dog and your Very Expensive Show-Quality Dog.”

Daphne sipped some of her milk shake and studied the handsome, elegantly clipped wheaten terrier bouncing along at the end of a lead. Although he was not running, the man attached to the other end of the leash was wearing a pricey-looking running outfit and some equally expensive running shoes.

Coming up fast behind the wheaten terrier and its human was a great, shaggy beast of indeterminate ancestry. It might as well have worn a sign around its thick neck:
Shelter dog. Wanna make something of it?
The human clutching the other end of the lead was on roller skates. She had a long blond ponytail and Daphne was pretty sure she smirked when she and the beast surged past the wheaten terrier and the man in running gear. Terrier and companion pretended not to notice the blonde on skates and her tough escort.

Daphne used her straw to stir the milk shake. “You're right. Two distinct breeds here. But both have style. This is Southern California, after all.”

In spite of the strange, unnerving situation into which she had suddenly been plunged, it was surprisingly pleasant to sit there on a park bench with Abe. The warmth of the Southern California sun felt good after the chill of Cooper Island.

They were eating lunch and watching the joggers, skaters, and dog walkers pass in front of them on the shoreline path. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed the company of a man as much as she enjoyed Abe's company. Last night at the hotel near the beach she had enjoyed another good night's sleep knowing that Abe was on the other side of the connecting door.

She was sure that he was not her type. She had always been attracted to men who shared her love of design in all its myriad forms. Men who respected her talent for creating a space that reflected the individual taste and style of a client. Men who had an intuitive appreciation of the arts; men who dressed with taste and style.

Brandon had been that sort of man.

As far as she could tell, the only art that Abe responded to with true passion was whatever creativity lay at the heart of computer algorithms. Definitely not her type, but for some reason it was good to sit there with him in the sunshine.

Beyond the path was a sandy beach and the sparkling waters of the Pacific. The day wasn't quite warm enough to draw the bathing suit crowd and the waves weren't high enough to lure the surfers, but in Southern California any day was a good day to do some people watching at the beach.

She was also vaguely amazed to discover that she was enjoying the milk shake that Abe had insisted she drink. The clerk who had sold her the milk shake had assured her that the ice cream was made from
milk supplied by happy cows that were never given hormones or antibiotics.

“What are you thinking?” Abe asked.

“I was thinking about contented cows and designer dogs, but now I'm thinking about Maddie and Jack.”

“Don't worry about your friend. Jack will take good care of her.”

“He seems to have taken a very personal interest in Maddie's security problem.”

Abe nodded, thoughtful now. “Understandable. Sanctuary Creek Inns is by far our biggest and most important account. Jack wanted to take a hands-on approach.”

Daphne stirred her milk shake. “Have you noticed the way he looks at Maddie whenever she's in the vicinity?”

Abe frowned. “What of it? He's a suspicious man by nature. Goes with the territory. He used to do some work for the FBI, you know.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Abe. Your brother doesn't look at Maddie as if he's suspicious of her. He looks at her as if he wants to
date
her. There's a difference.”

“See, there's where you're wrong,” Abe announced with grave authority. “Jack is suspicious of her for exactly that reason.”

“Because he's falling for her?”

“That makes him extra cautious. Downright suspicious.”

“Why?”

“Because this is Jack we're talking about.” Abe munched a bite of taco. “He isn't what you'd call an emotional guy. I mean, it's not like he doesn't have any emotions. He does. But they don't show up very often. And when they do, I think it makes him uneasy.”

“So he gets suspicious of whatever is causing him to feel some strong emotion? Okay, in a weird kind of way that makes sense.”

“Jack also has a rule. He never sleeps with the clients.”

“I doubt if Maddie is in the habit of sleeping with her consultants, either. But I've got a feeling this situation is different for both of them. What would you say if they had an affair?”

“I'd say it's their business. But I'd also say it probably wouldn't last long.” Abe paused a beat. “Unfortunately.”

“What makes you say that?”

Abe shrugged. “Jack's affairs haven't lasted long since his fiancée ditched him a couple of years ago. Actually, I don't think he's had any relationship that lasted long enough to be called an affair. Mom has been after him to get out of his shell and meet more people. She's afraid he's developed commitment issues. But I think he's just focused on building the business now. See, Jack tends to be really intense when he focuses on something.”

“I got that impression.”

“He's like a freight train. Once he starts down the track, he just keeps going. Anyone standing in his path has two options—get out of the way or get on board.” Abe tossed the taco wrapper into a nearby trash can. “Enough about Jack and Madeline. Let's talk about us.”

An odd little tingle of awareness touched the nape of her neck. “What about us?”

“We've got some interviews to conduct, remember? We need to come up with a cover story.”

The little frisson of pleasure that she had been enjoying evaporated. But a burst of adrenaline took its place. She slurped up the last of the milk shake.

“Right,” she said. “A cover story.”

Abe's phone rang just as he started to get to his feet. He frowned at the screen and took the call.

“I don't have any answers yet, Jack. We're just getting started.” There was a short pause. “
Holy shit.
Are you both okay?”

Daphne froze. “What's wrong?”

Abe looked at her. “Jack and Madeline were nearly killed in an explosion and fire this morning.”

“My God.” Daphne stared at the phone. “Maddie? Maddie, are you there?”

“I'm here and I'm fine.”

Abe set the phone down on the bench and hit the speaker feature. Jack started talking in a flat, unemotional way that iced Daphne's blood.

“Things are getting interesting here,” Jack said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“You're sure that both of you are okay?” Daphne asked for the third or fourth time.

Madeline looked at the phone sitting on the kitchen table. Jack had hit speaker mode and delivered the report of the explosion as if it were no more eventful than a blip in the stock market. When he had finished he had started to prowl the big, old-fashioned kitchen, listening to the conversation between the two women.

“Depends on your definition of
okay
,” Madeline said. “I'm a little shaken up, to say the least, but we executive types pride ourselves on being able to deal with the unexpected.”

“A homemade bomb definitely comes under the heading of
unexpected
,” Abe said. “Tell me about the tech involved in the bomb, Jack.”

Jack stopped in front of the table and looked at the phone. “Low-tech but effective. When I moved the file box I tripped the device that set off a spark. That ignited a cord soaked in gasoline. The cord ran to a pile of empty five-gallon propane tanks—the kind you use with barbecues. They were sitting in a shallow pool of gasoline.”

“No such thing as an empty propane tank,” Abe mused. “There's
always some residue and it's highly explosive under the right conditions.”

“Madeline thinks the tanks were left over from the days when each of the cottages had its own barbecue.”

“Someone knew what he was doing, that's for sure,” Abe said. “What are the local authorities saying?”

“The explosion is still under investigation, but there isn't much left to investigate,” Jack said. “Pretty sure it's going to be classified as a suspicious fire, but that will be the end of it. Madeline's grandmother didn't bother to insure the hotel, so there's no insurance company investigator involved.”

“What about the Cooper Island police?” Daphne asked, indignant. “There's a would-be murderer running around named Ramona Owens.”

“We talked to Chief Dunbar,” Madeline said. “He's new, not the guy that was in charge when you and I lived on the island. But we don't know much about him. We gave him the facts. Told him that the woman had claimed to be Tom Lomax's granddaughter and that she wanted to show us some old papers and photos that Tom had kept in a lockbox.”

“The cops are looking for Ramona's compact and there will be an officer stationed at the ferry dock for the next few days,” Jack said. “But it turns out there are a lot of places where you can ditch a car in the woods and ravines around here. All we know for sure is that Ramona didn't get on the ferry today.”

“Anyone at that end got a working theory of the crime?” Abe asked.

“Dunbar seems serious about finding Ramona Owens,” Jack said. “But this is a very small town with limited resources, and now he has one unexplained murder and an explosion and fire on his hands. He's a little overwhelmed, to put it mildly.”

“Dunbar might have been able to write off the explosion as an accident if you two hadn't survived,” Abe said. “No one would have known
that there was a woman calling herself Ramona Owens at the scene. But you did survive, and now the cops have to deal with the problem of the mystery woman.”

“The chief did trace her license plates,” Jack added. “All the way to a rental car agency in Seattle. But the agency had no record of a Ramona Owens. According to them, the vehicle was rented to someone with a different name and a nonexistent address in Las Vegas.”

“Get the ID to me and I'll see what I can find out,” Abe said. “What's your read on Dunbar?”

“I can't be certain because he's being careful,” Jack said. “But he mentioned that he was aware that I was involved in a small, rather public scene in a local restaurant and that the scene involved a certain member of a prominent island family. Got a hunch Dunbar is aware that this individual has a history of playing with fire.”

“If he's any kind of halfway decent cop, he knows,” Abe said.

“Sure,” Jack said. “But at this point he has nothing to connect our individual with the explosion. All he's got is Ramona Owens, who has vanished.”

There was a short silence on the La Jolla end of the connection. Madeline got a mental image of Abe and Daphne exchanging glances. She knew that all four of them were now thinking about Xavier Webster.

“Maddie, you and Jack need to get off that island,” Daphne said.

“We can't leave,” Madeline said. “Not until we figure out what is going on here.”

“Maddie, it's not safe there,” Daphne said. Her voice was very tight now.

“I know it sounds a little counterintuitive,” Jack said. “But I think we may be relatively safer here than we would be in some other place. At least for now. Whoever was responsible for the explosion had a very close call today. He'll be very careful for a while.”

“He'll be looking for another opportunity,” Abe warned. “I think he's focused on you, Jack. Probably views Madeline as collateral damage.”

“But if that's the case, where does this woman who claims to be Lomax's granddaughter fit into this thing?” Daphne asked.

“We don't know yet, but men like the one we're discussing have a reputation for being able to manipulate others,” Madeline said. “Especially women.”

“We need to find Ramona Owens,” Abe said.

“Yes,” Jack said. “So much for our excitement. Any leads on your end?”

“Maybe,” Abe said. “We've got addresses for a couple of former colleagues of our subject—people who knew him before he became a hotshot in the financial world. We're going to see the first one this afternoon.”

“Talk to me when you have something, anything.”

“Sure,” Abe said.

Jack leaned down and hit
end call
. He clipped the phone to his belt. Madeline drummed her fingers on the table.

He finally noticed that she was glaring at him.

“What?” he asked, genuinely bewildered.

“It's considered good manners to say something polite like
good-bye
or
nice talking to you
when you end a phone call.”

He frowned. “There wasn't anything more to say.”

Madeline's phone rang before she could continue with her lecture. She picked it up. The number was unfamiliar.

“Yes?” she said.

“Miss Chase? This is Louisa Webster. I got your number from the Cove View B-and-B. I know you've had an absolutely terrible day. The rumors of the accident out at the hotel are all over town. I'm so glad you and your friend Mr. Rayner are all right.”

“Word travels fast.”

“Well, this is a very small town. But then, you know that. You were once one of us.”

Madeline said nothing.

“I realize you must be exhausted,” Louisa said quickly. “I hate to impose on you, but I would very much like to talk to you privately. I would suggest some time tomorrow or the next day when you've had a chance to recover from what I'm sure must have been a ghastly shock. Unfortunately, I'm afraid it's quite urgent that I see you as soon as possible. Would you mind coming out to Cliff House this afternoon?”